


10 Songs about Molly and Sherlock

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 10 songs meme, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For shkinkmeme. Rule was to pick 10 songs and a pairing and write about them for the duration of the song. I chose Molly and Sherlock. This is about missed connections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 Songs about Molly and Sherlock

**Depeche Mode -- Personal Jesus**

The first time she sees him, she feels like he’s gorgeous and unattainable. His personality makes it even moreso. He’s distant and cold. Molly doesn’t believe that she’d even get near him. It’s not worth trying to pursue it, but she still can’t stop acting like a giggling schoolgirl.

The first time he sees her, he realizes she’s reliable, someone who would listen to him and his requests and take care of them, no questions asked. The simpering is a bit much, but it doesn’t even register for him. She’s just there, willing to help him in any way possible -- if it’s attaining coffee, listening to him rattle off odd theories or allow him in the morgue, even though it’s not allowed. She’s kind of cute too, he realizes, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he smiles briskly as she offers him a cup of coffee.

**See you Around kid/Siberia -- Red Elvises**

Somehow, he has no idea how it happens, but they end up in a bar together. Maybe it was Lestrade who insisted that they go out, to celebrate the end of a particularly difficult case, Sherlock can’t remember. 

But there they are, sitting at a table and listening to some surf rock and downing shots of vodka. Donovan’s face cracks into an occasional smile as she laughs loudly and pats Molly on the back. Molly’s grin is wide and she’s giggling madly.

“I can’t believe what you told that man,” she says, leaning over and putting her hand on his arm. “How on earth did you pull that off?”

“It was ele--ele--ele,” Sherlock stutters slightly. “Elementary my dear Molly. His shoes had the same odd sole patterns that were found at the scene. That style was only released in Russia last year. I remembered he was visiting there for a business trip and everything clicked together.”

Her eyes are bright and she chews on her lip slightly. “Bloody brilliant,” she giggles.

He grins.

**Little We Know -- Frank Sinatra**

That night, he wanders off to bed and stares at the ceiling. How odd, he thinks to himself. He can figure out a murderer from his shoes, but what Molly is doing is confusing him. Even though she was brightly chatting him up, she also was friendly to Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan. About as touchy with all three of them as she was with him.

Was she flirting? Or was it the alcohol? More research may be needed, he thinks to himself.

Across town, Molly is snoring softly in her bed. She’ll wake up with a hangover in the morning and odd memories of Sherlock’s grin. She’ll shake it off as drunkenness

 

**Go for G! They Might Be Giants**

“Gophers do live in holes,” Molly mutters under her breath. “I remember reading stories about them causing horses to break their legs in the American West.”

“That may be true,” Sherlock retorts, “But that doesn’t mean anything with this corpse. His leg was broken, but it probably wasn’t a gopher.”

“Slipped on a grape,” Molly replies. “They found it near the body.”

The look of surprise on Sherlock’s face that Molly told him the issue makes her grin slightly.

**O Holy Night -- Etta James**

It’s Christmas. Molly is attending a Christmas party and mingling in the corner, when she sees him enter the room in an imperial manner. As usual, he’s dressed in a suit, looking good and probably smelling fantastic. 

Their eyes meet and she smiles and waves and he waves back. The entire night they don’t end up near each other -- people want to talk to the Great Sherlock Holmes and Molly is catching up with a friend from University. There’s an odd glance or two each other’s way, but the eyes never meet. 

By now, Molly hasn’t thought much about him, until she finds herself bumping up next to him. 

“Merry Christmas!” she says, foisting a cup of egg nog. “Surprised to see you here.”

“Mycroft insisted,” he replies. “But it’s nice to see a familiar face.”

**You’re Looking at Me -- Diana Krall**

“Stop staring at me,” Molly spits out. “It’s unnerving when I’m doing work. Aren’t you supposed to be doing your work.”

“But you’re doing it _wrong_ ,” Sherlock retorts. 

“Who has been working in the morgue before you showed up?” She retorts, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t like it when you stare at me.”

“Why?” he continues to stare -- eyes piercing into her. 

_Because I’m not used to you looking at me_ she wants to say, but instead replies. “It’s distracting. I can feel your eyes drilling into my back.”

“Fine.”

There’s a long, cold silence in the lab. Molly quietly works and occasionally glances over at Sherlock, who is examining something under a microscope.

“You’re looking at me,” the rich baritone issues forth as Sherlock fiddles with the microscope.

“I can’t help it,” Molly replies. “You’re doing it wrong.”

An annoyed huff is emitted as he looks up at her. “How am I doing it wrong?”

“You’ve got the slide upside down,” Molly points out with a giggle. She’s rewarded with another annoyed huff from Sherlock as he flips the slide around. 

“Technically it would be fine either way,” Sherlock retorts, returning his eyes to the slide.

“Yes, but this way, you’re not getting the sample all over the microscope,” Molly says crisply. “Do you realize how often I have to clean up after you?”

“My apologies.”

Molly smiles and returns to her work. After a moment she notices something. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“You’re looking at me.”

**If I was Your Girlfriend -- TLC**

He hasn’t made a move, Molly thinks to herself. There’s no point in pining over him. 

That’s what she keeps telling herself when she sees him. Sherlock’s been perfunctory, polite and perhaps a bit cold. But sometimes an odd warmth sneaks through his demeanor and she’s confused all over again.

Sometimes she wonders what it would be like if she was his girlfriend. Is he always that brilliant? That insufferable? Sometimes she wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Sometimes (and she would never admit this), she imagines other -- things.

Just a slow dance, fingers sliding over skin and lips tasting and nibbling. Stripping that suit off and discovering what was underneath. Long languid strokes and hot words spoken in the air. She wonders if she could make him giggle if she touched him in the right places. Or would he groan?

Taking apart the emotional armor and seeing if it really is just a cold automaton underneath the exterior. She can sense that there’s a passion underneath -- but for what exactly, she’s not sure. It just makes her more curious than anything else. 

Heck, she’d like to pick out another suit for him. Or at least a different shirt color to mix things up a bit -- the white shirt and black suit is crisp, but boring.

**By Golly Wow -- Stanley Jordan**

She’s singing under her breath to the radio. It’s really insufferable, Sherlock thinks to himself.

“Betcha by golly wow --” her voice is too high, piping and breathy. And it’s causing him to become more distracted from the task at hand.

“Molly --” his head whips up. “You’re singing again.”

“Sorry,” she reddens slightly and quiets down as the Stylistics take over the singing. 

“Write your name across the sky, anything you ask I’ll try --”

“Molly,” Sherlock growls. 

“Sorry.” 

The problem is that she’s utterly distracting. He’s finding himself sending her out more and more for coffee just so his mind can quiet down. Having her silent allows him to focus on the task at hand, as opposed to imaging other -- things. Distracting things. 

She’s singing again. 

“You’re the one I’m thinking of --”

“Molly,” Sherlock growls again and his head whips up to look at her. “Can you take the Stylistic tribute show somewhere else?”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You know the Stylistics, but you don’t know that the earth moves around the sun?”

“Does everyone read John’s Blog?” Sherlock snaps, as Molly begins another wave of giggles.

**Red Hill Mining Town -- U2**

It’s getting to be too much for Sherlock. She’s just too damn distracting. The look of eagerness in her eyes, the way she’s willing to accommodate his every request. The way she hovers around him. 

Normally he’d be able to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. Distractions never stopped him before -- he’s been able to solve cases without food, drink or sleep. So a little mousy girl who works in the morgue shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

But apparently his mind is considering her a bigger deal than he’d like. There’s just something about her -- similar to John. That willingness to help him no matter how odd the request. While she doesn’t follow him on cases like John, she’s around and willing to humor his requests.

It’s got to stop, he thinks to himself. Whatever this is, it has to stop or come to a head, he thinks to himself.

**You Could Have It So Much Better -- Franz Ferdinand**

“Molly, we need to talk about this,” Sherlock says finally one day. He‘s run the scenario through his head and knows it will end badly, which is why he asked her to meet him at the St. Bart‘s hospital.

“About what?” she looks confused.

“I keep sensing this odd tension between us,” he replies. “I’ve found myself more and more distracted by your presence and that really needs to be addressed.”

There’s a wave of confusing emotions that pass over her face before she settles on polite blankness. “I’ve also got news too,” she replies. “I’m getting married.”

“What?” Sherlock’s jaw drops as his mind runs through every possible scenario. She was definitely too distracting. “Where’s the ring?”

“Mark hasn’t gotten it for me yet,” she says, fiddling with her drink.

They make small talk for a bit. Turns out Mark is a friend of a friend who she met over Christmas. He’s lovely, they’re lovely and happy. 

He retreats from the situation as fast as politely possible, but his mind keeps muttering that it could’ve been better, if he moved faster.


End file.
